


No One Else

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift for Kimber since she was feeling poorly.</p><p>Bethany receives terrible news while locked in the Gallows. With no one else to comfort her, Cullen can't help himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



It was an unusual request from an unusual visitor- Gamlen Amell was not someone he had ever expected to see gracing the halls of the Gallows any time soon, and especially not in the hours after midnight. The man had been unpleasant enough the one time they’d met, that fateful day that he’d taken Bethany away.

And now it was late, long after they allowed any one past the portcullis normally, but the gate guards had insisted that the man was nearly insensibly livid when they’d refused him entry. Cullen could see that now, watching the man pace in agitation around his office. His eyes were red, and his face was drawn, but his lips were still pulled back in that familiar sneer.

“You’ve still not said why it is you need to see your niece so urgently,” he said bluntly, agitated himself at having been dragged from the warmth of his bed so late. And further concerned about how he would react at seeing Bethany, soft and sleep tousled, a temptation whether she meant to be or not.

Gamlen threw a look of disgust at him. “Family matters,” he said brusquely, refusing to elaborate any more than that.

The door clicked open and he stiffened; Gamlen swung around, his features haggard, but they needn’t have worried. Meredith stepped into the room, dressed plainly in breeches and a linen shirt. Her expression was suspicious, her eyes narrowed as she took in the restless man before her.

“I assume you have your reasons for disturbing the Gallows so late?” she asked coldly, her tone far from sympathetic.

Amell was a bold man, Cullen would give him that much; Gamlen sneered at the Knight Commander with just as little respect as he’d shown to him a few moments earlier. “I’ll give my reasons to my niece and no one else.”

Gamlen could not be persuaded to reveal the reason for his visit, growing only tenser the more Meredith pushed him. When finally the door knob turned again, his expression suddenly grew agonised, and the raw emotion on his face was enough to make Cullen turn away uncomfortably, aware that he’d probably witnessed something private.

So instead he was watching the door when Bethany walked in, blinking in the light as her Templar escort closed the door behind her. She’d pulled a robe on over her nightclothes, but even so… the fabric couldn’t hide the fullness of her figure; if anything the soft clothing only seemed to draw the eye in, begging attention to things that he should not be letting himself linger over. She’d pulled her hair back into a quick braid, and there were many loose strands hanging against her neck; his fingers itched the brush them away.

“Uncle Gamlen?” she asked in confusion, her voice husky from sleep. He tried to pretend it didn’t affect him, standing stoically to the side of the room as Bethany stepped forward to offer her uncle an awkward embrace. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

Gamlen glanced over her shoulder at them, his eyes begging for privacy that they were not going to allow. His frame seemed to slump in resignation. “Not… not really my dear. You should probably have a seat. I bring news from your brother.”

***

He saw her eyes widen at the news; saw the shock and the disbelief that flickered through her, denial surging up almost instantly. She shook her head as Gamlen delivered the news, slowly at first but then with more emphasis.

As his story continued, Cullen saw the hope die in her, the horror growing, her lip trembling as she wordlessly mouthed ‘ _no_ ’ over and over again. Her fingers were clutching her robe closed at the front, and her knuckles grew white, almost as white as her face; she was trembling by the time Gamlen trailed to a stop.

The first tear fell on her cheek. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, uncle, you can’t… you must be wrong, that can’t… Mother can’t…”

It had never been harder in his life to stand at his post and do nothing. Even with Meredith in the room, he just wanted to rush to her side and throw his arms around her, consequences be damned.

There were tears on the old man’s face, but his jaw was set. “She is gone, my dear,” he forced out, more bluntly than Cullen would have delivered the words. Bethany’s face crumpled. “Your brother has made all the necessary arrangements. I’m… sorry.”

When Bethany began to sob in earnest, her head buried on her uncle’s shoulder, Cullen had never felt more wretched in his life.

***

Meredith refused to allow Bethany time to attend the funeral. He railed at her, arguing with everything within him without giving away his true feelings- or at least, he hoped he had not given himself away- but she had still not relented on the matter. He wasn’t responsible for delivering the news to Bethany, but he knew she wouldn’t take it well. Leandra Hawke had been killed by magic, Meredith had argued, and they wouldn’t acknowledge her death in any way shape or form except to use it as an example of the treachery of mages. And they wouldn’t soften the message by allowing a mage free from confinement.

He felt helpless.

It was after curfew, Cullen on his way back to his quarters after having lost yet another argument with Meredith on the matter, when he heard a soft noise from within the Gallows chapel. It was a tiny little room at the end of the hall, with only a few pews and a simple relief of Andraste at the front; it was dark but for a few candles at the base of the idol.

Kneeling in the front row, he could see a familiar figure, black hair hanging forward to shield her face from view. As he paused in the doorway, he heard a sniff, and then a choked sob, her hand going up to her mouth as if she was trying to silence herself.

“ _Maker though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._ ”

His heart broke. “Bethany,” he called, stepping into the dark room.

At the sound of his voice she lurched to her feet, wiping quickly at her face before she spun to face him. “Knight Captain,” she whispered, attempting a weak smile. “I’m sorry, I… I know I’m out past curfew, I’m sorry, I just-”

“I know what you’re doing,” he said, and he saw her face blanch, even in the dim light. He held his hands out placatingly, trying not to seem anxious himself. “No, wait, please- don’t panic. I don’t mean to reprimand. You have every right to grieve. I don’t think… I could never rebuke you for that.”

She stared, almost incredulously, for a full count of three seconds, before her expression crumpled. His heart lurched in his chest as she began to cry again, dropping her face into her hands as her shoulders shook from her weeping.

It was too much for him to bear- for three years he’d kept his distance, for three years he’d restrained himself to looking but never touching, and even then he’d forced his gaze to the wall more often than he would have liked. Now, to see her so very broken, refused the opportunity to mourn the death of her own mother, refused the comfort of family and friends at such a traumatic time… it was too much.

Other mages didn’t get to mourn their families either, but that hardly seemed important right now. None of them were Bethany.

He was across the room in two short strides, and his arms were around her before his common sense could scream that this was nothing but a bad idea. His armour was gone for the evening, dressed only in the most basic of clothing as the day wound to an end, and without the protection the steel casing provided her body melded against his almost perfectly. Her hands went up over his shoulders, her fingers digging in as she clung desperately to him, sobbing as if her heart was breaking.

It probably was, all things considered.

He held her close, feeling helpless, feeling hopeless, wishing there was something he could do to make the pain in her stop. And then there was the inconveniently timed sense of elation, the giddy victory he felt at having her in his arms- _finally_ \- which was really completely inappropriate given that she was weeping over the death of her mother. But she was soft and warm, and her scent wound around him deliciously. Her face was pressed up against his neck, her breath curling over his skin as she sobbed, her tears soaking into the shoulder of his shirt.

“Oh, Cullen,” she whimpered.

It was the first time she’d ever said his name.

He let her cry, holding her close the whole time. He had one hand on the small of her back, trying not to notice the curve beneath his palm, while the other cradled her head, whispering soothing sounds and nothing-words to her, nonsensical things that he had seen her use on the children when they threw tantrums.

She began to talk at one point, the words spilling out of her as she wept, stories about her mother and her brothers and her father and all the missing pieces of her family; stories about the bond she’d shared with Leandra, the only daughter, the precious mageling that had to be protected and coddled and hidden away at all costs. She was babbling, the words a never ending stream- he didn’t interrupt her, merely listened, not sure what he could have said in any case. She spoke of her faith, of wanting to do right in the eyes of the Maker, of wanting to prove that magic did not make her evil.

“But I am, I’m the same as him, the same as any of them.” She sobbed against his shoulder. “And Garrett didn’t even come to tell me himself, he probably hates me, wants nothing to do with me, and why am I even telling you this? You agree, you’re one of _them_ , you think we’re all evil and soulless and I shouldn’t even be here but I have nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to-”

“I don’t think you’re evil, Bethany,” he interrupted. Although the way she held him in thrall for days at a time had to be some kind of magic.

She chuckled once, bitterly. “It’s sweet of you to say,” she whispered, pulling away from him slightly. They were so close that he could feel her breath against his mouth. Her face was wet, shining from tears in the candlelight; her eyes were red and puffy.

She still was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

Something of his feelings must have shown in his eyes, for he saw hers widen. “Cullen?” she breathed, her incredulity written across her face.

Maker take him, it was a stupid thing to do, but when would he ever get an opportunity like this again? He cupped her cheek and kissed her.

She gasped, stiffening slightly, and he nearly stopped, convinced he had crossed the line; but then, marvel of marvels, she kissed him back, hesitantly at first. But then the hands on his shoulders slid around his neck, and she was clinging to him again, but differently now, her strength borne out of desire rather than sorrow.

When they broke apart, both gasping softly for air, they both tried to speak at once.

“I’m sorry, that was completely inappropriate of me-”

“- didn’t mean to take advantage of you while you were grieving-”

“- shouldn’t have done that, you were just so kind and I-”

“- you were just so sad and I wanted to make you smile-”

“- wasn’t trying to seduce you into letting me go to the funeral, if that’s what you thought-”

“- have no desire to force myself upon you in your grief.”

They both stared, then laughed awkwardly; when Cullen brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers she dropped his gaze. Not before he saw the tears gathering again. “Bethany…” he began.

She took a shaky breath. “It’s okay, I just… I needed to have some time to say goodbye to her.”

He tilted her face up to see her again. “Did it help?”

The tears spilled over again, and she bit her lip. “Not really,” she whispered.

He ushered her into a pew, sitting beside her and tucking her up against his side. She fit against him so naturally, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, her hand coming to rest on his chest. “Do you want to talk?”

She was silent for so long that he assumed she wasn’t going to answer at all. “Not right now,” she murmured; she sighed, so weary and so heartbroken that it broke his heart just to hear it. “I just… I wasn’t expecting this. Not from you.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “I couldn’t _not_ , Bethany.” It was an adequate statement- it summed up every tormented feeling he’d buried over the last three years, consistently dragged into the open every time he’d turned a corner to see her. He couldn’t not feel this way, he couldn’t not fight Meredith for her, he couldn’t not want to soothe her when she cried for a death that she somehow felt responsible for.

She was shaking slightly, crying silently in his arms but she managed to pull herself upright to face him. “You were the last person I was expecting to catch me,” she whispered, her eyes seeking out his. “But I’m… for what it’s worth, I’m grateful. More than, actually. I’m glad it was you; out of anyone in this city, I’m glad it was you.”

He smiled weakly. “I’m glad too then.”

She cried for hours, and he sat with her the whole time; sometimes they talked, more often they didn’t, and when she fell into an exhausted sleep on his shoulder he carried her back to her room. She woke briefly as he placed her on the bed, and her fingers touched his face.

“No one else,” she murmured, and he thought she meant there was no one else who cared. But then she continued. “No one else I’d rather see than you.”

He fell asleep that night with a smile on his face, the first time in three years.


End file.
